News of his father saves a Marine

Randolph Rabenold

Morning Call file photo

Randolph Rabenold in his Lehighton home in October 1999, displaying a photo of his father. Rabenold, a Marine Corps veteran, fought in Korea and was sent home when his father died, but he missed the funeral. Called back to Korea, he was on a ship when the Chinese attacked and surrounded...

Randolph Rabenold in his Lehighton home in October 1999, displaying a photo of his father. Rabenold, a Marine Corps veteran, fought in Korea and was sent home when his father died, but he missed the funeral. Called back to Korea, he was on a ship when the Chinese attacked and surrounded... (Morning Call file photo)

The next day, my six buddies and I were at Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island. We had played hooky in May to go down to the Allentown Post Office to enlist. "Pop" Sensinger, the principal, knew where we were but gave us a break. He didn't punish us.

When we completed boot camp, my cousin Ray Rabenold and I were assigned to the Naval School of Music at Bethesda, Md. We were told it was because we were graduates of the Lehighton Boys Band, which to this day enjoys an impeccable reputation as the Boys and Girls Band.

I played trumpet, and Ray played clarinet. Our next assignment was the 1st Marine Division Band at Camp Pendleton, Calif, where we arrived in September 1949.

During a fairly leisurely year, we took part in the filming of "The Sands of Iwo Jima," starring John Wayne and Forrest Tucker. My cousin and I participated in a mock Marine landing, climbing down the rope ladder to board the landing craft and coming in, rifles high, amid a hail of dummy bullets. At one time I stood only about 10 feet from "Duke" and the other stars.

In August 1950, we were part of the 6,000-man 1st Provisional Marine Brigade that set sail for Korea. We were the first American troops to arrive from the mainland, landing at the southern port of Pusan. We could hear small-arms fire in the hills. That's how close the North Koreans were to taking over the South. The line companies went down the gangplanks, up into the hills and began a steady northward drive. We were assigned to command post security, manning .30-caliber machine guns on the perimeter.

We advanced northward on trucks, over an ancient Korean railroad and on foot. We were hampered by mortar and artillery barrages, so we always made sure we dug in deep.

About mid-September, the whole brigade assembled around Pusan. We boarded ships and put to sea. Every day we would pick up more and more ships, and we began to sense that something was up.

One day we were called up on deck, and they opened up a big wooden box that contained a model of Wolmi-Do, an island off the port of Inchon. We were told that we would probably take heavy casualties, because the island was heavily fortified. We began having back-out drills, climbing down ladders three decks to the landing craft, which were inside the ship.

We drilled with full field transport packs and weapons. On one drill, my cousin Ray fell about 20 feet and landed on his pack. "Thank God, I didn't break a leg," he said. "I want to go in with you guys!"

The morning of the landing, about 4:30 a.m., we went in on the second wave. We caught some fire, but it was no Iwo Jima. The island was controlled quickly, and the tide started receding rapidly. By noon you could hardly see much water. We set up a supply dump, and soon the pounding of Inchon began.

Rocket ships, dive bombers, even the battleship Missouri plastered the city all day, and we had a ringside seat, a mile away. We had to dive for cover every now and then when a "short round" fell in.

By late afternoon, the tide was back in, and the main landing began. The 1st Marine Division went ashore with little opposition, but my good buddy Bobby Kipp was one of the few killed in action. He is buried in Gnaden Huetten Cemetery, two blocks from where he was raised.

On the second day, we were sitting on our supply dump and snapped to attention as Gen. Douglas MacArthur drove by in a jeep, with his corncob pipe, surrounded by a platoon of Marines. They proceeded across the milelong causeway into Inchon.

The next day we loaded up the trucks and went into Inchon, which was leveled, and kept on going. The division was advancing at a good pace, and before we knew it we were up to Seoul, the capital, and it, too, was virtually destroyed. We were catching some artillery and mortar fire, as well as an occasional sniper. We dug in around Kimpo airfield and set up security, because planes were landing regularly with supplies.

One night I was woken up by the NCO (non-commissioned officer) in charge. "Wake up, Corporal," he said. "Your father died, and you're going back to the States."

I remember landing at Midway Island in the Pacific and Hickham Field, Hawaii, then San Diego. By the time I got home, the funeral was over.

I hung around "Hammy" Zimmerman's bowling alley. The "old guys" in their late 20s and early 30s who were World War II vets said to me, "Don't worry, kid, they'll never send you back."

But they did. "Report to San Diego for transport back to Korea," the cablegram said.

My ship was close to landing in Japan when we were told that the 1st Marine Division was surrounded by the Chinese, who had suddenly poured over the border, inflicted heavy casualties and committed atrocities.

We were issued an M-1 rifle, two bandoliers and a cartridge belt of ammo, plus a field transport pack. We were told that we were going to have to fight our way in. We were gung-ho to save the division.

When we were halfway across the Sea of Japan, they changed our orders. The division had fought its way out of the Chinese encirclement but had suffered heavy casualties. Marvy Searfoss of Jim Thorpe was one of a few members of one platoon to come out alive.

Around Kaeson, we met up with Division, and I saw my cousin Ray. He had "battle fatigue" -- saucer eyes, sunken cheeks, blank stare. He told me that Sgt. Trotter, Rolf Legband and others were dead, and that "Frozen Chosin" was pure "hot hell."

Rabenold served in Korea until April 1952. He attended what was then Kutztown State Teachers College and taught art in Jim Thorpe schools for 38 years, retiring in 1993. Now 69, he serves as a Volunteer for Literacy in Carbon County. He and his wife, Ruthie, live in Lehighton and have five children, Rebecca, Randall, Rhonda, Richard and Ronald, and eight grandchildren. Rabenold's cousin Ray, retired from Bethlehem Steel Corp., lives in Palmerton.

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